Poor Hugo
by Jack Valjean
Summary: An excuse to abuse every single last one of them. Read and Review, because otherwise I will never get better. Yes, that was a threat. In progress.


**Author's Note... Or Something: Jack's the name, and making Hugo wretch in his grave is the game-- in other words, fan fiction. (Oh, and before I forget, I own nothing in this story, except the table.) Obviously, this is my first story (if you can call it that) on Fan Fiction. I have however, been writing Les Mis fan fiction for about five years, from when I was seven. (Otherwise known as the fatal day I picked up the BRICK.) Most of my fic's tend to focus on Javert. Whom I love in a very non- slashy way. Not that I'm against slash. But that, my dear readers, is a completely different story. I write all kinds of Les Mis, what ever comes to me, really. This one is a parody, which is not to be taken seriously under any circumstances. It is filled with adventures to far off lands, a suspicious wardrobe, a Jesus-like lion, an evil witch, Father Christmas, and four reasonably attractive children. **

**What do you mean that idea is already taken?! Anyway, here we go. **

Enjolras was sitting at one of the circular tables of the Cafe Musain. Though, to speak truthfully, it wasn't exactly circular, becasue the set radius of said table was about three centimeters off from where it should be. This meant that one half of the circle was three centimeters larger than the other.

In any case, Enjolras was not sitting alone. He was accompanied by a very lost puppy. Well, he wasn't really a very lost puppy. He was in fact, only a very drunk man. This man was named Grantaire. Now, Grantaire had a habit of following Enjolras around wherever Enjolras went. Because the humble author can find no better excuse for this slightly lunatic, and not to mention abominably stalker-ish behavior, said humble author has decided that Grantaire did, in fact, think he was a lost puppy. The lost puppy, was in turn joined by several others, who all liked to pretend that they were still members of a secret society, despite the fact that their plans to take over Paris had turned out to be a complete flop.

That last paragraph was rather confusing. The humble author humbly offers his appologies. (Of humbleness.)

Grantaire stirred, and began to scratch the back of his ears rapidly.

Enjolras looked up. "What are you doing?"

"I don't know," said Grantaire. "I've got the worst itch in the world."

"Well stop! That scratching sound is annoying."

"I can't help it!" Grantaire was beginning to worry. He couldn't control himself. (Perhaps he did not know that he was a lost puppy.)

"Grantaire will you hand me that newspaper?" Enjolras gestured with his hand, and not with his foot, to the newspaper in question. Why he wanted to question a newspaper remains a mystery to this day.

"Oh, sure thing buddy." Grantaire continued to scratch.

"Now?"

"Oh, yeah, absolutely. Why didn't you say so in the first place?" Grantaire handed Enjolras the newspaper. Enjolras stared heavily at Grantaire, and waited a moment before he decided to snatch it out of the lost puppy's hand. "What?" he asked.

"Nothing." Enjolras flipped open the newspaper.

"_What?_"

"Nothing."

"What did I do?"

Enjolras was silent. He looked up from his newspaper, and looked Grantaire square in the eye. "When I asked you to hand me a newspaper, when exactly did you plan on giving it to me?"

"Well, you should have clarified! How was I supposed to know you wanted it right that second?" And Enjolras smacked his head against his hand. Which didn't exactly help matters.

Bahorel, ever attentive, and always ready with a solution, leaned over to Enjolras. "D'ya want me to blow him up, boss?"

"No, Bahorel, I do not want you to blow him up."

"Aww." And Bahorel was sad.

The landlord approached the table, and addressed Enjolras. " 'Scuse me, monsieur, but last months rent is due today, an-"

-BOOM-

A large explosion erupted directly where the landlord used to be standing. But, since this is meant to have a rather questionable T rating, all that was left was a large smoking crater, and not the gruesome remains of a recently blown up landlord. Everybody at the table stared blankly for a moment. Luckily, nobody else in the Cafe seemed to notice the explosion. Go figure.

Enjolras looked at the crater for a few seconds, eyes wide, breathing heavily. He shifted his gaze, slowly, and menacingly, towards Bahorel.

"What?" Bahorel asked.

"You blew (here he paused for half a second,) him up."

"No I didn't."

"Yes. You did."

"Well, maybe a little bit."

"You blew him up!"

"He was trying to take your money!"

"So you _blew him up_?"

"Well, yeah, but- but... what's the big deal?" Enjolras smacked his head against his hand. Which didn't exactly help matters. And Bahorel was sad.

Suddenly, Grantaire stood up as straight as he could. He sniffed the air. " I smell... I smell..."

"Well, what is it?" asked Enjolras.

"Fop." And with that word, Marius strolled in.

"Hello, everybody!" He said in a ridiculously musical and annoyingly cheerful voice.

"Hello, Marius," everyone groaned.

"D'ya want me to blow him up boss?" Bahorel asked, eagerly.

Enjolras sighed, closong his eyes, and pinching the bridge of his nose, like you might have done of you had a nasty headache. "Go for it, Bahorel."

Silence.

And still silence.

"I said 'Go for it, Bahorel,'" Enjolras opened his eyes.

"I'm all out."

Enjolras smacked his head against his hand, which didn't help matters. And Bahorel was sad.

* * *

**Well, there you have it. The first chapter. I plan on doing one chapter per character, or having a couple characters be the main target of the misfortune each chapter. Simply because I don't know if I will have the strength to write a whole chapter about Cosette without becoming violently ill. Obviously this one was Enjolras and Bahorel. Review. Please?**

**AND REMEMBER: You can't hate me, because Hugo did it first.**


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